


I Don't Mind (Yes I Do)

by Rinzler



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinzler/pseuds/Rinzler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only Barry knew how closely the man known as Harrison Wells actually watches him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Mind (Yes I Do)

The man known as Harrison Wells stares at the screen in front of him, and grips the handles of his wheelchair so tightly the metal bends under the pressure of his contained rage. This damned wheelchair, a mobile prison that keeps him confined, unable to act as he would so wish to.

Making the decision to play a pariah and a cripple had been an easy one in theory. It offered the perfect cover, the perfect illusion. He is cast out from society, blocked from their ever-growing hatred towards him, and yet offered sympathy by those he gathers close. Those who suspect him can never touch him, those who can touch him have no reason to suspect him.  The use of a wheelchair, the loss of his legs, had seemed perfect.

The moans from the camera feed onscreen increase in volume, and the man known as Harrison Wells reconsiders his last statement. It had seemed perfect.

It was not any more.

“F- fuck, please…I want it, please-” Barry begs, voice shaky and trembling, accompanied by a crackle of static. On the screen his head falls back, over the side of the bed, lips parting and eyes sliding shut. “Ah, ah…please!”

Harrison Wells removes his glasses- useless, plastic frames he does not actually need- and leans closer. As unprecedented as this situation is, as much as it irks him beyond belief, perhaps he can still use it to his advantage. He only needs to figure out how.

Earlier that night, a despondent Barry Allen had entered a bar on the south side of Central and proceeded to drown his sorrows in as much alcohol as he could feasibly consume. Or attempt to, considering his powers did not allow such an event to occur. When Barry began to receive suspicious glances as the bottles and glasses increased in number and yet he showed no obvious signs of intoxication, Barry had paid his bill and left, only to repeat the same process at another bar a block away.

It had appeared at the time that Barry was still in mourning for what he considered a ‘lost love,’ the relationship he had hoped to have with one Iris West. The relationship that he would now never have as Miss West was soon to be Mrs. West.

Harrison had simply let Barry wander from bar to bar, occasionally checking on him to make sure he didn’t run into any undue trouble. It had proved to be ineffective. Barry had not run into trouble.

Trouble, or the man known as Leonard Snart,  had run into him.

On the screen Barry writhes as Snart trails bites down his neck and across his collarbones, staining his skin with reds and purples. A particularly vicious bite at the spot where Barry’s neck meets his shoulder is met with a breathy gasp. A sharp nip on the center of his neck provokes a soft keening sound.

As Snart hides his smirk of satisfaction by pressing a kiss to Barry’s lips, Harrison brings up another camera angle- the first was partially obstructed by the obnoxious red RECORD button that characterizes video technology of this age- and examines the bites critically. He could do so much better than this pathetic attempt at marking. How unfortunate that Barry is not aware of the same fact.

Barry tilts his head ever-so-slightly to the right, allowing Snart to press forward. There is a slick, filthy sound as their tongues meet before Snart pulls back to bite at Barry’s bottom lip and tug. Barry moans at that.

The man known as Harrison Wells makes a mental note.

“Fuck, Len,” Barry breathes, “You feel so good. So- ah, fuck! I c-can’t wait- to have you inside me-” and rolls his hips upwards. Snart swears loudly at the touch and rocks his hips down, until the pair are grinding on each other like teenagers. Barry moans again, straining upwards, begging for a kiss. Instead Snart reaches his hand upward and tangles it in Barry’s hair, pulling the speedster’s head back to bite down. Barry keens, still satisfied, but not as much as he should be.

Harrison frowns at the display. Were he in bed with Barry, he would not have hesitated to kiss the young man. He would have kissed him ten times, a hundred, a thousand, stolen the very air from his lungs. He would have kissed Barry until the man gasped for breath and saw sparks clouding his vision.

Unfortunately, once again, Barry Allen settles for less than what he should be given.

Giving up on the kiss, Barry’s fingers fumble with the belt buckle and zipper before popping the button on Snart’s jeans. Then Barry parts his legs further and shifts on the bed until he is slightly lower down, Snart’s ministrations falling on his jawline now. Barry blushes and bites his lip, eyelashes fluttering, then glances hesitantly at Snart before he tugs at the waistband of the man’s underwear and wraps a hand around Snart’s cock.

He is such a caring lover, this impossible man- desperate and needy, yet more concerned with making his partner feel good than achieving that same feeling himself. Harrison changes camera angles again, making sure the RECORD button is not blocking an inch of Barry’s skin from view. Then the biometrics alert flashes.

Harrison watches the screen very carefully. Studying Barry’s previous sexual encounters has provided him with the information that when the young man becomes sufficiently aroused, some element of Barry’s powers will be revealed, some aspect of them will slip away from his control.

True to form, he does not have to wait long. Barry’s hand trembles as he tangles it in the sheets of the bed before blurring entirely. It is a safe bet his other hand does the same, as Snart’s entire body convulses in pleasure for a moment. A deep groan echoes from the feed, and Barry’s face lights up with a pleased grin. Harrison scowls, bitter and dark. It is unbelievable how carelessly Snart treats Barry, and how much he receives in return for his less-than-adequate performance.

He acknowledges, quite privately, that should he ever be so fortunate as to touch Barry Allen as a lover he would in no way behave similarly. Barry Allen is worth so much more than drunken, teenage fumbling, hidden away in the depths of night like a particularly dirty secret.

The bodies writhing onscreen pay no mind to his musings.

Another minute passes and the man known as Harrison Wells leans back in his wheelchair with a sigh. He puts on his glasses once more, then idly flicks his fingers at the screen. The display pauses, bodies onscreen slightly blurred in motion.

He can feel the beginning of rage rising in him- has felt it for minutes now, burning hot, thick and viscous. Anger flows through him like magma, slow and toxic, waiting for the chance to erupt. His fingers are already sparking.

For reasons still undecipherable to him, Leonard Snart is essential to this alternate timeline and therefore Harrison cannot kill him as he so dearly wants to. He cannot whisk the man away to a deserted building or a high cliff or an unfinished scaffolding and punch through his chest to stop his heart from beating. He cannot watch the darkness fade from Snart’s eyes as his body convulses, flooded with electrical charges, before he finally goes still. He cannot do any of these things.

Harrison Wells looks at the screen once more, focusing only on one occupant, who until hours ago was entirely his. Even in the artificial stillness of the digital image, Barry is still uniquely beautiful. His eyes hang half-lidded, lips parted in a frozen moan.

Once more the anger rises and Harrison closes the display with a scowl, baring his teeth and letting lightning flicker across his gaze. He feels strangely powerless, set adrift with a clear goal but no way to reach it just yet. Barry Allen has been snatched from beneath him, beneath his control, and he finds himself having to create an entirely new strategy to deal with this surprise. The man known as Harrison Wells does not like surprises.

His fingers curl into fists, but Harrison resists the impulse. Experience has taught him not to give in to his impulses, frequently to destroy, to lay waste to his carefully-constructed vault and all the information it contains. Instead, he settles himself in his wheelchair and approaches the exit to the vault, opening the door and slipping through.

The room darkens behind him and Harrison continues on through the equally dark halls of STAR Labs, deserted now that the working day is long over.

Halfway down the hall he abandons the chair entirely, shedding it like an old snake-skin that no longer fits. He moves quicker then, taking longer strides, lightning sparking at his heels and he plunges ever and ever down into the maze that lies beneath the public facade of the Labs.

As he approaches his destination, the man known as Harrison Wells finds a small half-smile curving across his lips. Leonard Snart may own Barry Allen tonight, but it is Eobard Thawne that he will belong to for every other night and the rest of his days.

In the Time Vault, the red RECORD button remains lit.


End file.
